


Southern Blue

by Vagabond



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, fluffiest of chillywilly fluff, just some cute fluff for a friend who is going to go on a really long flight tomorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham was never a fan of change, but done in small increments by the right person he just might be willing to give it a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southern Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charll/gifts).



> I'm in a kind of crappy/weird mood so I put on some music and just wrote. For some reason I had a porch swing scene pop up into my head and since porch swings are big in the South I thought it would be great to work in some of Will's past travels into a story. Ultimately it is just meaningless fluff written in present tense which I'm finding I like more for one-shots like this. I'm still a work in progress though and while I like this now, I might hate it in the morning. 
> 
> Regardless, it is for my Chillywilly wife (lambylimbs) to add to her things to read on her ten hour plane ride. Hopefully this will take up at least five minutes of it.

There are days when Will realizes the full extent of Frederick’s influence in his life. It starts with the porch swing that shows up one day. Of course it isn’t a modern one, but one ripped right out of the patios in the Deep South. He remembers seeing porch swings like the wooden masterpiece hanging outside in New Orleans. Old ladies, half blind with cataracts and hard living, would swing on them in the twilight and call to each other about their days. 

He allows the porch swing because it brings back fond memories of New Orleans and he could use more good memories in his life. 

Then, he begins to notice his house is consistently cleaner. Even with a pack of dogs, the hair is kept to a minimum. He can sit on the couch and not send up a puff of dog hair and dander. The dishes are always done by the time he gets home and his house smells less like dog and more like freshly cut cedar. His closet is reorganized and when he blindly gropes around for clothes in the morning, they are easier to find. 

When he drops onto the bed one night he realizes the sheets are softer than he remembers. Frederick is already asleep so he can’t ask him about it, but he runs his fingertips over the fabric thoughtfully. It is cool to the touch and smooth whereas his old sheets had been stiff, starched, and rough. He squirms out of everything except his boxers and rubs against the sheets and decides he could get use to it. 

Will pokes the mattress after he’s settled and realizes there is a new mattress pad tucked underneath it. He sleeps better than he has in years and wakes up without a kink in his neck. 

His things begin to organize themselves. At first he’s annoyed when he can’t find what he’s looking for when working on a lure, but with a bit of poking around he realizes everything has been sorted. The crazy part is, the sorting actually makes sense to the process of making a lure and it speeds everything up. He’s able to reach out without looking and find exactly what he needs. 

One weekend he works on his boat motors, exhausted by a week full of cases and demands from Jack Crawford and the FBI. When he reaches for some lubricant he expects to find it nearly empty and misjudges what it takes to lift it. It clatters to the ground, thankfully without spilling, and he realizes all of his fluids have been refilled. He tests it again the following weekend after using a healthy portion and finds it to be in the same state: completely full. 

The dogs have collars. It takes him a while to notice because he doesn’t realize it until almost all of them have collars one except for Fenris, the white shepherd, who had chewed her’s to bits. They are clean and look great and somehow match their personalities. None of them are the same. There are argyle collars with a multitude of colors, check patterns, stripes, polka dots, and one even has a bowtie attached to it near the tag. Somehow it calms the dogs and Will watches them in the evenings when the lights are turned down low and Frederick is in the kitchen, because the dogs now check in on their master’s mate as much as they used to check in with him. 

Things change, but they do so in small and helpful ways so it doesn’t really feel like much of a change at all. 

Then Will comes home on a Friday in late summer. It is humid, the air hangs heavy around him and dampens his clothes. Bugs buzz in the air as he makes his way toward the house but even in the sweltering humidity he stops. He stops, because Frederick is sitting on the porch swing surrounded by dogs, a book in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. The other man’s hair clings to his forehead and beads of sweat roll down the side of his face. He’s got a pair of reading glasses on and doesn’t seem to notice Will staring. 

And oh, does Will stare. 

Frederick’s wearing just an undershirt and it is damp enough that it clings to his arms and his waist. The light grey fabric outlines his form and Will remembers that underneath all of the nervous self-loathing and fake arrogance there is raw power. He’s experienced it when they’re in bed together and Frederick flips them and pins him down. Will has been held beneath the weight of Frederick’s lean muscle and his breath catches at the memory. 

Now Frederick is watching him. He removes his glasses and offers up a lazy smile that causes butterflies to kick up a storm in Will’s stomach. He moves then, steps up onto the porch and drops his bag. In a matter of moments he closes the distance and pulls Frederick to his feet. The book clatters to the ground and startles a couple of the dogs. Frederick’s glass full of iced tea tumbles to the ground as well and Winston laps curiously at it. Will’s focus is on the man in his arms as he leans in and catches his lips in a kiss that leaves them both breathless. 

He stays like that in the heat with Frederick for what feels like an eternity before he’s brought back down to earth but the sensation of hands resting against his chest. When he comes back to himself he’s staring into a pair of blue-green eyes filled with amusement and affection. Frederick’s hands slip down to Will’s hips and his fingertips curl in the belt loops of his jeans in order to hold him close. 

“Hello to you too, Will,” Frederick finally says with a soft laugh as he leans back in and steals another lazy kiss. 

They stand like that for a while, exchanging languid kisses and gentle touches as the sun sinks behind the trees. The dogs wander around restlessly but the only thing Will cares about is getting lost in the sensation of kisses and touches. Finally, Frederick pushes Will playfully onto the swing and it clatters back against the side of the house from the force of it before swinging forward again. Will brings it to a stop and pulls Frederick in to stand in front of him. He pushes up the damp fabric of his lover’s shirt and presses open mouthed kisses to his belly. His mouth traces the length of the scar and Frederick shivers and buries his fingertips in Will’s wet curls. 

“Do you want iced tea?” He asks and Will laughs against his stomach as Frederick pets his head affectionately. 

“I want to throw you down on the porch and fuck,” Will answers honestly and enjoys the way Frederick’s fingertips curl reflexively in his hair. 

“Iced tea first, then maybe a cold shower and fucking that won’t leave me wrecked tomorrow.” 

“It is the weekend.” 

“I still have things I’d like to do.” 

“One day, Frederick, I’ll fuck you on this porch.” Will pictures it in his mind, though the more he thinks about it the more he realizes he should probably put a blanket down first. The last thing he wants is splinters for either of them. Then he’s thinking about Frederick getting splinters in his butt and he breaks down laughing, muffling the sound against his lover’s stomach. 

“I don’t think I want to know where your mind went,” Frederick points out fondly as he pulls away, picks up the fallen glass, and disappears inside. 

Will manages to reel himself back in when the other man returns with two fresh glasses of iced tea. He sits beside Will and the swing shifts beneath the added weight but eventually settles. When he sips at the iced tea his eyebrows shoot up and he glances at Frederick. 

“You made this like a proper Southerner,” he points out because he’s impressed. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Frederick answers almost bashfully as he takes a sip of his own tea. He tucks one of his legs under himself and uses the other to push the swing into a gentle motion. 

“We’re acting like proper Southern Gentlemen now.” 

“I wonder what proper Southern Gentlemen would think about what we’re going to do later.” 

“They’d probably have an aneurysm.” 

Will laughs and Frederick echoes it as they both stare out over the field in front of the house. As the sun disappears, the heat dissipates but the moisture hangs in the air. They continue swinging and Will settles back and puts an arm casually around Frederick’s shoulders. His lover leans into his side and eventually rests his head against his shoulder. They sway to and fro in the evening peace as the dogs settle back in around them. 

In the back of his mind, Will pictures them doing this very same thing as old men. What surprises him is how well the image settles into the back of his mind and he realizes just how much he needed a little bit of a change.


End file.
